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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27316555">price to pay ; to bear it with grace</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaol/pseuds/Chaol'>Chaol</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Elriel, F/M, Feylin, Modern Era, Multi, NaNoWriMo, NaNoWriMo 2020, Nessian - Freeform, POV Rhysand (ACoTaR), Sarah J Maas, azriel and elain doing it in the corners, feysand, ianthe being a bitch, sjm - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:15:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,308</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27316555</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaol/pseuds/Chaol</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhysand Night is a man broken down by decisions and choices, Feyre Archeron is the one who made the world make sense. Yet somehow life changes them both and for Feyre he's the one who got away -- and she's the one who settled.</p><blockquote>
  <p>"I thought I cared about you. I thought we all did. I thought we were family. I thought -- I thought that I understood you and you did me.” </p>
</blockquote>A project for NaNoWriMo2020 !
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elain Archeron &amp; Azriel, Elain Archeron/Azriel, Feyre Archeron &amp; Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Tamlin, Nesta Archeron/Cassian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>price to pay ; to bear it with grace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3>
  <span>Chapter One: the last of her kind ; the only one i wanted</span>
</h3><p> </p><p>
  <span>The breeze picks up, carrying the sweet floral scents heavy in the air as he sits there. Azriel on one side, Morrigan on the other. They’d hedged him in the minute he’d been shown to his seat, Morrigan was actually forgoing a position in the bridal party just to sit by him and babysit him. While perhaps he would have scoffed at it, he couldn’t deny that as he watched the blonde man he’d grown up beside standing there at the floral decked arch, the soft greens and blush pinks of them somehow suiting him and making him doubtless even more beautiful - he felt agony. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yet the pain hadn’t even begun. The wedding march began, gentle steady notes setting the pace as Feyre was walked down the aisle, her sisters and bridesmaids Elain and Nesta first - then Feyre and her father. Every step she took felt like a knife to his heart, because it was a step away from him. A step away from the future they could have had, should have had -- would have had. But would haves, should haves, and could haves - are little more than a fantasy that doesn’t truly reflect reality. The truth was Feyre hadn’t seen Rhysand in over eighteen months, and he’d put as much distance between them as he could have for nearly three years. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With his mother’s death the expectations of his family crashed down on his shoulders, the blame for her death resting heavy on his heart. And instead of accepting love and support from the large family his mother had tried to build around them, he had walled himself off, he isolated, and he commiserated in his own dreary company. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Standing with the others, Morrigan’s hand tucked in his arm, Azriel even reaching to give his hand a squeeze - Rhysand couldn’t help but feel a bit ridiculous. That he needed this support for a wedding. Weddings were supposed to be happy affairs for fuck sake. He’d been raised alongside Tamlin, the same with Feyre -- hell the way things were going with his brothers, he’d be practically related to her soon. Feyre looked a dream, except she looked a spring times dream. Filmy fabric, soft ivory and flushed pinks, lace and beading. The dress wore her -- or so he told himself. </span><span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span> <span>When they all were seated, he felt her gaze on him, glancing from the altar where she joined hands with her soon to be husband. A sharp breath - willing the sorrow from his eyes as he gave her an encouraging smile. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Be well Feyre. Be happy. May this give you all the joy you deserve. May he be the man who lets you grow into yourself. May you find every happiness</span>
  </em>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Such were the thoughts he clung to, drowning out the sirens call from the pastor when he spoke the fatal line -- “Does anyone have any reason that this man and this woman shouldn’t be joined in holy matrimony.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rhysand had already realized, there was no reason to stand. He’d pushed Feyre away, he’d made the choice to remain alone. He’d made the choice to set her free from the what ifs that had always defined them. And though it may kill him -- he didn’t need Azriel’s steadying hand on his shoulder to keep him in his seat. His own grief weighed him down plenty. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With the final notes of their wedding song, the ceremony was over. Rhysand was first out of his seat -- making a discrete but direct path to the open bar. Thank fuck Tamlin had splashed out for this ---... While it might have been tradition for the bride to pay for the wedding, Rhysand could tell that this entire event had Tamlin all over it. Drenched in flowers, sickly pastel shades, nectar scents, and flimsy saccharine decorations -- it reeked of him and his ex Ianthe, who’d happened to serve as wedding planner.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A tidbit of gossip Morrigan had delighted in sharing with him. Something that he mulled over now as he took two glasses of whatever had seemed strongest, both were too fruity for his taste - but at least it would take the edge off. Drifting towards the edge of the party, Rhysand was doing an excellent job of avoiding anyone. Nesta and Cassian were dancing - having joined the bride and groom after their first dance. Elain and Azriel -- well they’d slipped off the second no one was looking, but that’s what they were like - always slipping off into the shadows to ease the tension of a wedding…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amren made a path for him, her glass half full - a bottle of wine in hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did you rank your own bottle of wine?” Rhysand can’t help but feel a little jealous…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Talk to the bride once a week and answer her calls and not hide in my mansion and sulk.” Leave it to Amren to ensure the truth was put as bluntly as possible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A visible wince, “I have my reasons. Reasons that mean I need that bottle --.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amren snorted, moving out of his reach. “Touch my bottle pretty boy and i’ll break it over your pretty head.” Just as he was about to interrupt she added, “There’s no reason good enough to do what you did Rhysand Night. And now there’s a price to pay. I hope to gods you’re man enough to endure that price with grace.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rhysand is about to argue, about to protest his gracefulness in agony, but Feyre practically dances over. The smile on her face is lit from within, an unwavering joy as she radiates that towards him. Moving to draw him into her arms, the first embrace in years -- he doesn’t deserve this, he doesn’t deserve her friendship, her forgiveness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he carefully extricates himself from her grasp, giving her hands a squeeze. Smile lifting the corner of his lips, “Careful -- don’t want to smash your dress. It’s -- big.” The poofy sleeves dwarved her petite body, but he had to keep in mind that she had to have picked it… At least some part of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh thank you - Ianthe would murder me if I crushed the dress before the wedding cake got sliced. You’re a doll --” There’s a false note of brightness he hears in her voice, but before he can examine it too closely, “I’m so glad you came Rhys -- I wasn’t sure you would.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“--I couldn’t miss my best girl’s big day could I? Besides, it’s what family is for. Showing up at weddings and drinking all the best .. fruity nectars.” He holds up the half drunk glass with a grin. The smiles never reach violet eyes - instead they seem even emptier. Yet they’re talking, that’s progress. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Progress however is halted, with Tamlin coming over - arm slipping around Feyre’s waist as he leaned to kiss her cheek. “Come on babe, Ianthe says they’re ready for us at the cake. If we don’t hurry I think Nesta and Cassian might start a food fight.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The interruption seems innocent enough, but Rhysand resents it none the less. Tamlin doesn’t even acknowledge him - just guiding Feyre away. Feyre breaks free for a moment to rush back and give him a half hug -- protecting the blasted gown, “We’ll catch up later okay? Promise me Rhys --” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I promise ---”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But was it a promise he could keep? Such was the thought that had him drinking more of those blasted little fruity drinks, and drinking so many he couldn’t remember how many he’d had. Cassian is at his side now, keeping him upright - and mostly looking organized. A feat considering the midnight haired Rhysand now wanted to curl into a ball and either vomit until he felt better, or just slip into drunken oblivion for a little while.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Love was a heavy burden in best of circumstances, love that must be quelched and suffocated to its death is agonizingly uncomfortable. Because you see, the love of his life was married to someone else. And it was all his fault.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>These are the thoughts that drunkenly sway through his thoughts, the smell of honeysuckle and jasmine sickly sweet as he finds himself sat at a table by Cassian -- who disappears to go dance with his girlfriend again. Left unattended, Rhysand slumps into his hands as his elbows rest on the table. A shuddering breath as he lets the weight of his decisions settle onto him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Drawn out of this reverie as Feyre slides into a seat beside him, reaching to brush hair back from his cheek. Pale fingers in vivid contrast to the deep golden tones of his skin, accented somehow by the glimmering candlelight. Of course the sun had set now -- and Rhysand had always been meant for the darkness, while Tamlin began to look washed out and sallow - Rhysand seemed to practically glow. Despite the state of his intoxication.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rhys -- I’ve missed you so much. I hope that -- even though I’m married now, we can go back to how it was you know? I just -- have missed you.. As my friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s too drunk for this conversation, Feyre ought to know that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a scoff, “I don’t think </span>
  <em>
    <span>Timtam’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> really going to appreciate that. He can’t even stand to have you talk to me.” A nod towards her new husband as he stood at attention, glaring at Rhysand even as he talks to his best man Lucien. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tamlin</span>
  </em>
  <span> -- isn’t like that Rhys.” She defends her husband - as she ought to --.. Even if there is truth in the drunken man’s words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure he isn’t.” There’s a hollow nature to his words, a sigh as he rests his head in his hands. Head beginning to throb as he tries to drown out the thoughts that rise unbidden to the surface. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to be nasty Rhys -- I thought -- I thought that you’d be over this. I thought you’d -- go back to how it was..” Of course Feyre had assumed that him coming to her wedding would be an invitation to go back to how it had been.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? Like before my mother died? Before my father blamed me? Before I had to run everything at 18?” He raises up from his slumped position, a thread of angry silvering his gaze as he turns to Feyre.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We all lost her Rhys -- and no one blames you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rhysand stiffens at her words, “We all lost her… Of course that’s what you’d say.” A shuddering breath. “She was </span>
  <b>my</b>
  <span> mother Feyre. Mine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Feyre is near tears now, he can see it shimmering in her slate gray eyes. Yet he can’t stop now that he’s started. Why not put the final nails in the coffin? Why not ensure she never comes back around him? After all -- she’s married now. Married to her dream man so she’d said in her vows. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You lost someone who gave you pretty ribbons and new paints. I lost the only person who cared about me, who understood me --..” It is gloriously self pitying, but that’s the mood Rhysand is in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Feyre draws back as if struck -- her hand at her throat, the tears escaping and trailing down her cheeks. “Thanks Rhysand -- for making things so clear. Because I thought I cared about you. I thought we all did. I thought we were family. I thought -- I thought that I understood you and you did me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rhysand rises from his chair, that little sway to his stance overlooked -- the disdain coloring his features with a sneer. “That’s why you’re marrying </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tampon</span>
  </em>
  <span> then. Because we </span>
  <b>
    <em>understood </em>
  </b>
  <span>each other.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Feyre doesn’t have words this time, instead she just rises -- Tamlin’s striding towards them. Cassian and Nesta both making a path to Rhysand trying to intercept whatever is occurring. But they’re all too late -- Feyre slaps him. Rhys stumbles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cassian is beside him first, catching him -- Tamlin is rushing to draw Feyre back and into his arms. They’re speaking, Rhysand can tell. Yet he can’t hear it. Blood is rushing in his ears. Every breath he takes feels like he’s drowning. There are tears in his throat, he can feel it -- he’s pushing away from Cassian. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a steadiness to his walk now, he doesn’t want to be here. He wants to be alone. He doesn’t want to see happiness, he doesn’t want to see love. He wants grief and sorrow to consume him. Let the filth of his soul devour him. This is the last time he tells himself, the last time he lets love hurt him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t matter that in truth he’s the one hurting himself. None of it matters as he leaves the flower bedecked tent, leaving the warm glow of candles and twinkling lights for the solace of the night. Night - where he is not judged, where he is not expected to be anything but himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yet even as drunk as he is, even as tired as he is, even as lost as he is -- he cannot help but be haunted by Feyre’s last words. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I thought we understood each other</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They had. Until Rhysand had become a person even he didn’t understand. Rhysand had been changed, by loss, by death, by guilt, by a woman. Until who he was now, no longer resembled the boy he’d been when he and Feyre had understood each other.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Feyre had been the only one for him, but he’d made himself into the only person who was never going to be right for her. And that was the truth he couldn’t bear to accept, but the thing that he understood better than anything else. It was time to give her up. And so, on his knees in the grass - where the trees cast eerie shadows across the lawns - where starlight twinkled, and where a full moon was the only witness. Rhysand Night wept. And with each tear, he let her go.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ahh !! I'm so nervous to post this, but Vikki tells me I have to.. i HOPE THIS GOES WELL ! it is a multi chapter piece, that's still a wip so.. Forgive me for being emotional about it hahaha. anyway !!! If you like it please give it a kudos or even comment! The support and encouragement means the world and I can't thank you enough &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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